


What's In a Name?

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Merwin, One-Shot, Oxford, Pre-Relationship, Word Play, alternative first meetings, alternative universe, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 21:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17231336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: The cashier at the local coffee shop is a moron, she keeps misspelling his name as "Merkin", and today, someone standing behind him seems to find this funny.





	What's In a Name?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/gifts).



> Many thanks to AnarchyCox, who'd told me about the funniest typo she ever received in a comment (someone wrote Merkin, not Merlin). Which reminded me of an episode of a podcast I'd heard, maybe a decade ago, where one of the hosts - also named Merlin - had his name misspelled by the cashier at his local Starbucks.

"Roxanne, I need the lab results sooner than later. Like yesterday sooner." Merlin makes an effort to keep his voice low and this tone civil. He's waiting on line at the coffee shop and he doesn't need two dozen strangers hearing his business.

_"I know, Doctor Selkirk. I've been pounding on the nerds in the basement for the last three hours, but all I'm getting is excuses. First, the server's down, then that they are out of queue for cycles on the mainframe – like it's 1981 and the quantum physics department is running on a 8-bit Sperry Univac."_

"Tell the neckbeards that if I have to go down there myself, no one's going to be happy. This project is critical for next year's funding and they'll all be out of a job if I don't have those results on my desk by the time I return to the lab."

_"Will do, sir."_

Roxanne disconnects and Merlin feels more than a little sorry for her. She's the brightest mind in his department; her doctoral dissertation had been ground-breaking in the field, but he's been using her like an administrative assistant. She should be working on her own projects, not playing Moneypenny and rounding up the delinquents in Q-Branch for him. The least he can do is bring her back a cup of coffee and a pastry.

Merlin finally gets to the head of the line and places an order for two quad-shot espressos and a _pain au chocolat_.

The cashier asks for his name for the cups, and Merlin sighs as he gives it to the girl, spelling it out. "M-E-R-L-I-N." He'll be damned if he says, "Like the wizard."

"Okay, got it. Merkin. Wait over by the counter; it will be ready in ten minutes or so."

Merlin sighs again. He's here every single day at this time, the girl at the register is the same employee he gives his order to, every single day. They go through this routine like George Burns and Gracie Allen, but unlike Gracie, the cashier doesn't just play a moron, she _is_ a moron, misspelling his name every day for the last week.

Someone behind him is sniggering, probably at some idiotic thing on his phone. Merlin ignores it and walks over to the pickup counter to wait. He half-wishes the coffee shop would be like the local DVLA office, where you get a number and there's a display showing how long you'll have to wait for your turn. He could be here for five minutes or a half-hour, and it's annoying as fuck.

Today seems to be one of the good days. Merlin's pulled out his tablet and started reviewing some of the latest computations when the barista calls out "Merkin, you're order's up."

As he reaches for the cups, there's that sniggering again. And with the added bonus of, "Merkin, ha! She actually did it."

Merlin takes the coffee and turns to look for the speaker. The only suspect is a young man, blond, wearing a rather eye-searing jacket made from fabric printed with gold license plates, a snap-back, and of all things, trainers with wings on them. He's also smiling and extremely attractive. There's not a phone or tablet in sight.

"What's so amusing?"

"Oh, nothing."

The young man's accent is pure South London, and while Merlin himself grew up in less than affluent circumstances, he's surprised to hear such an unabashedly Cockney accent in the rarified air of Oxford University. The man is smiling, a sly grin that makes the hair stand up on the back of Merlin's neck. It's the smile of someone who knows a secret, or they've just made a fool out of you. Or both. "It's not nothing." Merlin doesn't step any closer to the exit. He's going to have answers, even if he has to wait until the coffee shop closes.

The young man's smile changes, becomes a bit more open and generous. "Amelia's playing a joke on you."

"Amelia?"

"The cashier." Blond and badly dressed nods towards the front of the shop.

"Ah, the moron. She can't spell my name right. It's six letters, two syllables, and yet for the past week, she's persistently substituted a 'k' for the 'l', for no good reason than she can't comprehend basic English." Merlin's lived south of the Border for more than two thirds of his life, his accent is faint to the point of non-existence. 

"Amelia is certainly _not_ a moron. She's one of my brightest students."

"Your students?"

The young man's attitude changes in a heartbeat. The Cockney accent is replace with a version of Received Pronunciation that's so sharp, it could cut glass. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Merlin backpedals. "Not at all. Perhaps I'm just getting old, or you're a prodigy, but you seem rather young to be teaching here."

The young man shrugs and smiles. "What can I say? Got my A-levels at fourteen. Graduated with a double-first in history and classics when I was eighteen. Oxford made me a mad crazy offer when Cambridge tried to poach. Finished my doctorate and everything. Not a full don, not yet. Maybe not ever. Will probably find something else to do in a few years."

Merlin is impressed. He's had quite a few prodigies in his department over the years, but most of them burned out far too quickly. But none of this explains the foolishness with the cashier. "So, why would your student keep deliberately misspelling my name?"

"Amelia's straight As all the way, and what the dons like to call 'a cogent and original thinker'. But she's also got a fantastic sense of humor and not above a little mischief-making at a stranger's expense.

"That stranger being me?"

"Yes, and I guess I should apologize on her behalf." The young man pulls off his cap and rubs the back of his neck.

Merlin is still puzzled. "I'd like in on the joke, if you don't mind."

"Okay, see, Amelia is working on her master's degree in Tudor history; she's writing her thesis on intersection of gender and politics in the arts."

"And that is supposed to explain why she deliberately misspells my name on my coffee order every damn day?"

"I'm guessing you aren't a student of gender, history, arts or politics."

"I'm a research fellow in the Science Department, my field is Quantum Physics. Not art or gender or history, and I'm only interested in politics as it relates to my grant funding." Merlin is getting annoyed with this entire conversation.

"Then I guess you don't know what a merkin is."

"I think it's pretty obvious that until the moment, I didn't even know a merkin is a thing."

The man's smirking at him again.

Merlin sighs. "All right, I'll bite. What _is_ a 'merkin'?"

"A pubic wig."

Merlin blinks. "A _what_?" He's not sure he's heard correctly.

Young and badly dressed explains, and now he sound every inch an Oxford Fellow. "It had been common for prostitutes to shave their genitals during the Tudor and Stuart eras as a way to prove they didn't have the pox and to eliminate pubic hair lice. The birds would then wear a merkin – or pubic wig – to cover up the, ah, bald spot." 

Merlin takes a moment to digest this, and then laughs. "That is a really good joke."

"So, you're not angry? I don't have to ask Amelia to apologize? I'd overheard her tell one of the other students in my seminar that she's been playing a gag on a bald bloke named Merlin and I wanted to see if she was really doing it."

Merlin shakes his head, smiling in delight. "Not at all. I may be a scientist, but I can appreciate good word play. And it somehow seems a lot better to be the butt of a sophisticated joke than to keep thinking how sad it is that the cashier at a coffee shop at Oxford University can't spell."

"Is your name really Merlin?"

"Yes. And please don't point out that I'm Scottish and that the Arthurian character was Welsh. I was named for the falcon, not the wizard."

"And I'm Gary, and I was named for my grandfather, not the pedo pop-star."

It takes a second for Merlin to process the reference - _Gary Glitter_.

"Pleased to meet you, Gary." Merlin looks helplessly at the two cups he's holding. "I'd shake your hand, but I don't have one to spare."

"That's okay. You can call me Eggsy, though." 

"Eggsy?"

"Nickname, what all my friends call me." Eggsy winks at him. "It's been nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Merlin wonders if he's getting a bit ahead of himself when he says, "Perhaps we'll see each other again?"

Eggsy shakes his head. "Here, probably not."

"You're not a regular?"

"Come by sometimes, but not a lot. I'm teaching at Balliol, but my offices are on the other side of the campus. I had a free morning, and I thought I'd catch Amelia and her mischief." Eggsy grins and Merlin finds it infectious.

"Well, I am delighted to be the source of amusement for you. But I really do need to be heading back to my lab. Perhaps we will run into each other again sometime. I'm here every damn day."

"Which cup is yours?" Eggsy pulls out a pen.

Although both cups have the same rapidly cooling espresso in them, Merlin lift up the one in his right hand. Eggsy takes it and writes something on it.

"My mobile. Call me, maybe we can meet up and you can give me some lessons in Quantum Physics and I'll teach you some more about Renaissance-era social customs."

"I might just do that." In truth, Merlin knows he will. He wants to know more about this rather unusual young man. But the bells chime the hour, reminding Merlin that time is in short supply. "I have to get going. My lab staff are waiting on me.

Eggsy nods. "I have to get going, too." He heads towards the coffee shop's rear exit.

Merlin, oddly reluctant to lose sight of the man, waits for a moment, turns and goes out the front door. Eggsy-with-no-last-name may just be one of the more interesting people he's met in a long time.

__

FIN


End file.
